


The Phone on the Desk

by FangirlMess



Category: Black Monday (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Blair gets a hug, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicide mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28649199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangirlMess/pseuds/FangirlMess
Summary: After finishing season 2 of Black Monday, I was struck with a thought that was basically what if someone else found Blair instead of Moe because that was *bad.*Anyway, I wrote this because I wanted Blair to get idk, some form of comfort after seeing what he saw as before he got none.I put this in the tags, but, there are plenty of mentions of Roger's death in this, don't read it if it's going to bother you.
Relationships: Blair Pfaff & Dawn, Roger Harris/Blair Pfaff
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	The Phone on the Desk

**Author's Note:**

> Blair's character in this show baffles me. Because one minute I want to hug him, the next I wanna push him in front of a moving train. 
> 
> I don't think anyone tends to read these notes but I'm curious, did Blair sort of scare you in the last two episodes? Cause he freaked me out. I've never been scared by any of Andrew Rannells's characters, but, he wins, those scenes with him are just so *off*
> 
> Also, idk if there's gonna be any overlap for this and people reading my current falsettos fic, but if any of you are here from that, I promise, I am gonna post soon, I was going to last weekend but I underestimated how hard this next chapter would be. I'm crossing my fingers for Monday? I haven't given up on it, I promise. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are always super appreciated! 
> 
> \- FangirlMess

Blair heard shuffling at the desks outside his office. He closed his eyes, not bothering to check who it was, not wanting to know, much less move from his position stretched out over the couch, drink in hand. 

He realized a moment later that closing his eyes was a mistake, when he was met with vivid images of Roger’s body hanging in the dark room. 

He opened his eyes, blinking to try and get the image away. It seemed tattooed to his eyelids at this point. Every time he closed his eyes for even a second he saw it again. It made his stomach turn with guilt, with grief, with horrification.

What had he _done_? The question bombarded him constantly, through his grief-stricken, cloudy mind. 

_This- this was his fault._

There was no fixing this, no restart button, this was it. He glanced up at the ceiling, feeling almost in a daze. 

In his mind, he kept replaying the events of the night, how it had all gone wrong. All wrong. _So_ wrong. 

They’d been at the party, anxiously awaiting the results, then his boyfriend had won. He’d won. He’d actually won. And then- then they fought

He ran a hand distractedly through his hair, the jelled style of the night long since ruined by his long fingers. 

When the night began, Blair had had his boyfriend, and now...he was gone, never within Blair’s reach again. 

His eyes watered and he blinked frantically to stop the threat of tears spilling down his face. 

The shuffling had stopped, and heard the lights being shut off in the main room. 

He let out a slow sigh of relief. No one had found him. 

Blair set his glass down on the carpet as his eyes wandered up to his desk. 

The phone sat enticingly on it, silently calling to him. 

He closed his eyes, running a hand down his face, once again being bombarded with images. 

He opened his eyes again, grateful that he was no longer being constantly haunted by that image. The phone sat there, right where it had been, invitingly on his desk. The same phone he’d listened to the voicemail Roger had left in over and over again. That had seemed like ages ago, but it really wasn’t. 

He stared at it for a long moment, before finally heaving himself off of the couch, for the first time since he’d fallen onto it about a half an hour before. 

He walked dazedly to the desk, splaying his fingers out across the wood paneling of it to keep his balance. 

His hands shook as he pulled the phone up, putting it between his face and shoulder as he blindly dialed. 

It rang once. He prayed silently, though he wasn’t sure who to. 

Twice. Thrice. On the fourth rang he heard a tired, familiar voice ask, “Hello?”

A wet sob escaped his mouth at the sound of Dawn’s voice. 

Suddenly she sounded wide awake. 

“Blair? What’s wrong? What’s going on?” she asked, the worry and confusion evident in her voice. He could imagine why she’d be surprised, he doesn’t cry. At all. His dad beat that out of him a long time ago. 

He took a long deep breath, trying to compose himself, before answering. 

“Can you come here?” he asked, as he frantically wiped at the tears threatening to fall down his face with one hand. 

“Um, yeah, where are you, Blair?” she asked, and he heard rustling in the background. 

“My office,” he stated, plainly. 

More rustling followed, before she finally answered. 

“I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay?”

“Yup,” he said, sniffing. The call disconnected and he walked disjointedly back to his couch, crashing onto it. 

He heard a tentative knock on the door before Dawn’s head poked cautiously into the room. 

Her gaze caught his, and she walked in the room, making straight for the couch, her eyebrows scrunched up, her hair a mess, baggy, dull colored clothing replacing her normal bright, colorful, tight-fitting outfits. 

_His phone call must have woken her up,_ he thought dazedly. 

She leaned down next to him, concern written all over her face, silent questions hanging in the air. 

His breath must have hit her face, because she scrunched up her face. She took the glass gently from his hand, putting it instead on the coffee table. 

“How much have you had to drink?” she asked concernedly, before her eyes found the nearly empty glass bottle on the desk.

“Did Roger lose?” she asked tentatively. 

He shook his head. 

“No, no, he won, but then he told me he couldn’t do the bank bailout until his next term. I got angry, and threatened to release the video from the surveillance room of us fucking at the Halloween party.” he sat up then, and Dawn sat down next to him. 

“He told me I’d never do it, and he was right, I’d never do it, and got angry, and left. Dawn, we still needed the bailout though, so I-”

He caught Dawn’s eye and she looked worried. 

He continued. “I- showed it to his father-in-law, decided to blackmail him instead because of his relationship with the governor, but he leaked it to Channel 5 News.”

Dawn’s eyes widened. Apparently she hadn’t seen it on TV yet, it was bound to be all over television at this point. The thought turned his stomach. The world would know what he was, a homosexual. 

_God, that was so stupid._

_Why did he do that? Why did he do that? Why did he do that?_

Roger had been right about him, what he’d said about him at the election afterparty. 

He opened his mouth again but only a sob came out. 

“He-he hung himself, and it’s _all_ my fault.” he said between sobs, and Dawn said nothing, only hugging him tightly, rubbing his back. He fell into her arms, his body racked with shaking sobs as he cried into her shoulder. He’d forgotten how comforting Dawn’s hugs were. 

“Let’s go back to my apartment, yeah?” she asked quietly, after a while, as tears rolled down Blair’s face and onto her grey jacket. 

He nodded and eventually she pulled away, whipping with her thumb at some of the tears rolling down his cheek. She slowly got up off the couch and offered her hand to Blair. He grabbed it gratefully, wobbling as he tried to stand, after all the alcohol he’d ingested in the last few hours. 

“Okay, one foot in front of the other,” she said quietly to him, as she put her hand around his waist, and they walked clunkily to the door, Dawn doing much more of the effort, though she didn’t seem to mind. 

“God, I can’t imagine someone else finding you,” she mumbled, helping him to sit down on the sofa. She pulled off his dress shoes, and he looked down, staring at his black socks, watching her do it, and was struck with another jab to the chest. 

His and Roger’s _lucky shoes_ . They hadn’t turned out lucky for anything. His own words echoed back at him, _We can’t lose, we’re wearing our lucky shoes._

Another sob wracked his body as he stared down at the black shiny shoes sitting on the floor. 

Dawn reached up and cupped his face with one hand. He leaned subconsciously into her soft palm, the comfort just enough to momentarily stop his sobs. 

“Are you staying the night?” she asked quietly, and he nodded. 

He swallowed thickly as she moved her hand in favor of sitting with him on the couch. 

He rubbed his hand across his face before realization struck: his contacts. 

_“Fuck,”_ he mumbled, doing his best to push himself up from the couch suddenly, swaying on the spot as he did so. 

Dawn’s hand reached out to steady him as she too, quickly stood. 

“Woah! Where are you going?” she asked him worriedly, her arm tightening around him as he swayed more violently. 

“Contacts,” he mumbled. 

“Oh, oh yeah, come on then.” she said, carefully, leading him towards the nearest bathroom, or more so, dragging him. 

Blair leaned against the counter, putting all his concentration into taking out his contacts, while Dawn sat on the counter, watching him wearily. 

“I think you left an old pair of your glasses here, want them?”

He nodded drowsily, and she quickly left, presumably to find them. 

When she came back, he’d succeeded in taking them out, and felt her press the frames into his hands, his vision suddenly out of focus and fuzzy. 

He blindly pushed them on his face, his world going clear again. 

It was weird, he hadn’t worn glasses, especially these in.. _years_. 

He slumped against the counter, exhaustion and alcohol making him drowsier by the second. 

Dawn helped him carefully back on the couch, him leaning heavily against her, eventually falling asleep, head in Dawn’s lap, to her gentle fingers brushing through his messed up hair. 

Blair awoke the next morning to Dawn’s head lolled out on the top of the couch, slight snores coming from her mouth. Her hands were sitting still loosely in his hair, his head in her lap, his body curled up in a fetal position on the sofa next to her. 

Faintly, he wondered about his surroundings, and then suddenly vivid memories of last night hit him, as did the headache he had, the very act of opening his eyes being painful. 

His eyes wandered over to his rounded glasses sitting folded on the coffee table. _Huh_. He hadn’t worn those since 1986. 

“Shit,” he said, sitting up suddenly. 

Dawn awoke instantly, staring at him sleepily. 

“What?” she asked, confused. 

“I’m-I’m fucked. There’s now a tape of me fucking some dude. My reputation is _ruined_ , Dawn, what do I do, what do I say, what do I-” he was cut off when Dawn put her finger to his lips, a universal gesture to be quiet. 

He shut his mouth. “We’ll figure something out, okay Blair? This won’t be the end of the world, we’ll think of something, alright?”

She brushed her forehead up against his, and he nodded slightly. He trusted her.


End file.
